The door opened... and a sleeping bag floated into the windowless room. It wiggled feebly. Rope was tied around and around one end.
Snig paused, happier than ever. It got him all the way to the hiding place. He was inside, now, and everything was ready. This was even more exciting than the other times!
"I got you," it said to the sleeping bag. "Hee hee. This is so cool..."
A groan came from inside the nylon -
It started unwinding the rope.
After shifting a little, a face popped out of the opening and gasped for air. A young guy, with a sparse beard. There was a bandanna tied between his teeth.
When the rope floated back up, he struggled harder. Snig looped it around his neck. There was no way he was getting out quickly.
"What do you think, Cass? The room?" it asked.
He looked around - and wailed into the gag. There were racks and stocks, weird seats, and three things that hung from the ceiling. Snig had more scary stuff in one place than he'd ever seen before. There was no way it could try all that shit out in a weekend. The thought of five more minutes of tickling was beyond him... and now this. The toe rings, last summer, weren't bad enough. It really put some work into this nightmare.
"And this door is nice and solid."
Swinging in. Oh no. It was closing the door.
"Nuh!" he shouted. "Nuuuuhhhh!"
"Yes, sir." It laughed with joy. "I've got you now. See?"
The door closed, and a deadbolt slid into place.
Cass sagged back.
"You're not getting out of here," it said in a sing-song voice. "And you know why."
"Pleeh, yuh gaaah lehmeh guuuh," he wailed.
Snig carried him to the tickling-post...
It was padded, covered with dark violet silk and had big rings at the top on either side. Straps would keep him from beating his forearms against the post. The bench Snig had designed to go with it was really going to hold him in place.
"Cass is gonna get it now," it promised, untying the rope.
He put up as much resistance as he could. Snig seemed to have fifty hands...
It had his arms untied, his jacket and shirt pulled off - and his arms stretched out high over his head within about thirty seconds.
"Nuuuuuh, Snnnngh," he begged.
"Not much longer now," it gloated. His legs were seized by a dozen hands. Cass yelped, fighting off the giggles that wanted to explode out of him. The memories of the last couple times Snig had caught him were flooding back. Fingers, holding on -
The rope whisked away from his ankles.
One boot, then the other were tugged off. Its hands seemed impatient to get his socks loose and throw them aside.
"Hello there, you wonderful feet," Snig said. "I missed you."
He shouted, long and loud. The hands didn't let him go.
His jeans and underwear were almost torn off...
"Now I take your wrists, and catch 'em with these."
The cuffs zoomed over and wrapped tight. Buckles, and then little padlocks. Cass wailed at them, unable to do anything else - absolutely petrified at the thought of another night in Snig's hands. And it wouldn't be just one night, or even a few nights, with all the bondage equipment it had in this new cell. He just knew it.
"Yeah," it almost purred. "You're not gonna give me any trouble now."
The cuffs were chained to the top rings on the tickling post. His arms were extended almost all the way, but they weren't supporting his weight or anything. Snig couldn't wait to see him pull, and tug, just frantic to move his hands... In that position his ribs stuck out even more than usual.
"Hello again, ticklish ribs. I'm really glad to have you here."
Cass let his head fall back, groaning again.
The bench was counterweighted by its thick iron legs. It bent his knees and lowered him down over a semicircle cut out of the wood and carefully padded, maybe nine inches in diameter...
Cass' package dangled in the air.
Extra-thick padding curved under his thighs.
Heavier cuffs floated down to his ankles. When they were on him, and wouldn't budge, Snig locked them to their own anchoring rings - and let go of Cass completely.
His soles were perpendicular with the floor, and caught a few inches from any surface he could possibly reach. It didn't like the way his knees dipped - being of the opinion that muscle fatigue was something to be avoided - so it wound a thin leather strap around each of his lower thighs and clipped them to the underside of the bench. That eased the weight on his knees... and also opened them up another half-inch. He couldn't squeeze tight now, no matter what was going on between his legs, all over and under that spectacular mindfield of nerve endings. His knees were more vulnerable too. Snig liked that.
"Are you stuck?" it asked him. "Sure you are."
Throwing himself around as much as he could, Cass sounded like he was swearing quietly.
"That better not be cussing I hear."
Oh, his eyes looked dark. Ready to kick somebody's ass. But Snig had the advantage. It had the hands, and he had the impressively sensitive butt - right there, exposed and definitely in for the most exciting time yet.
"Glad to be here, Cass?"
He yelled.
"Let's try that again. Are you glad I went to all this trouble? Just for you?"
After a strangled whine, he nodded.
"Good. Are you ready to enjoy yourself - almost as much as I will?"
Another short nod. He closed his eyes and sighed.
"Will it be a much longer party than last time?"
He groaned... and let his head fall forward.
"I'll take that as a yes. I've got Cass again. This time he's really in for it."
A box started heading over. When he recognized it, Cass barked, "Fuuh."
"Watch it," Snig warned, as it opened the humidor. "You remember what happens if I hear you using foul language?"
A cigar floated up, and a cutter met it in the air.
"Yuh," he sighed.
"Don't spoil the moment. I'm feeling pretty damn excited," it said, clipping the ends off the cigar. "And I think that calls for a smoke."
Fingers started loosening his gag -
"Do you want this cigar, Cass? I mean, if you'd rather not smoke it, I can just leave the gag in."
He nodded, looking disgusted as all get-out.
"Oh. You want the gag?"
He shook his head.
"Good man."
It took the bandanna away.
"Ow," he groaned loudly. "Dam-"
"Five points," Snig chuckled. "Or rather, five more."
Cass sighed with frustration. "My jaw hurts."
"It'll loosen up, when you give it some... exercise."
He paused, and it just knew he was swearing - in his mind. Then, "I thought I wasn't allowed to smoke."
"What? When did I say that?"
"The last time. At the end."
"Yeah."
He looked confused. "I, uh, I thought you meant -"
"After I let you go? Oh, Cass." It chortled quietly, striking a match. He puffed the cigar to life. "You had it right. But that didn't stop you."
He kicked out smoke, and took another puff before a bad thought hit him. "What?"
It was all Snig could do to keep from laughing... as it brought out the PDA.
The sight of it made him start trying to stretch the cuffs, yearning to be in some position where he wasn't so damn helpless.
"If you really had done as you were told," it said brightly, "maybe you wouldn't be here tonight. But you must think I'm a complete idiot."
"I never said that -"
"Too stupid to make spot checks."
The cigar drooped a little. "Oh, no. Shit."
"Five points. Did you honestly think I wouldn't... you know, see how you were doing? Look for violations?"
"You never did that before," he wailed. "C'mon."
"I told you, last time... You're an adult now, and if nobody else will make you behave like one - I'm glad to help." It watched his toes clench and unclench, slowly. "Only too glad. Hee hee hee."
"Snig. Please -"
"You said, just a minute ago, that you weren't allowed to smoke. Period. And that was the correct answer. But what did I observe, Cass? In just a few quick visits to spy on you?"
He closed his eyes, shaking his head just a little - and puffing slowly.
"October 24... November 3, 9, 12, 15 through 18," and it made a noise of disapproval, "and November 25, 27, 28, December 4, 5, 11, 12, 13, 19, 20 - and 23."
"Please don't do this," he mumbled, trying to kick his legs.
"Ninety-four cigarettes, two cigars... and four joints," it said triumphantly. "And those are just the ones I happened to see. Every time I looked you up, you were flaunting my rules."
"This is so... You're not being fair -"
"Moving on to littering. Four times, Cass. I'll spare you the dates." It sighed, feeling quite smug. "Speeding, 125 times. I saw you fail to use your turn signal 138 times, make an unsafe lane change 72 times... and get behind the wheel right after drinking four beers in less than an hour. That's a thousand-point offense, now isn't it?"
"Oh shit," he said to the ceiling. "Snig -"
"Five more points. Now, let's talk about failing to get adequate sleep. I told you how important it is to get at least seven hours, every night, but no..."
He smoked, saying nothing, with a glum expression. Snig had just the thing to change that mood...
"And so," it said happily, "when I add in the fifteen points you've racked up in here - so far - that gives you a grand total of 12,385 delightfully intense minutes."
"What?" he barked. "No. How many days is that?"
"I'm not going to tell you. Figure it out for yourself."
"Fuck -"
"12,390."
"Oh, no..." He took a couple puffs. "That's like nine days. Eight or nine... No. You can't, Snig, I'll go out of my f- I'll go nuts. I will. That's like half of my winter break!"
Wrong, it wanted to howl. So wrong. His math assumed Snig would tickle every minute of the day. Since that wasn't possible, there was no way in hell Cass would get sprung in anything like eight days. But he'd figure that out eventually.
"Shall we get started?" it teased.
"No, no, please... Snig, aw please, you gotta listen -"
"Days and days," it sighed. And Snig was determined to enjoy each one.
"I can't -"
He froze. It was opening a cabinet.
Oh yes you can, it thought, and it felt like giggling.
"Snig. I'm fuckin' begging you. Call this off, and I'll be good, I swear it, really, aw dammit..."
"Ten points," it said quietly.
He strained at the cuffs - and watched feathers start to move as it picked them up. Four, to start.
"No, Snig, c'mon, I'll behave."
They were coming. It was serious. He knew it just lived for tickling. Days and days - hell, he couldn't stand another minute of it. Not after the last time, in August, and it had only fucked with him for a weekend. Well, a four-day weekend. Hell.
"Please," he whimpered. "No."
Two of the feathers started flicking his collarbones...
Squirm, it thought. Just like that. Snig was basking in the success of having Cass in his new cell. Victorious, and there was no better reward than being completely in charge of every inch of his body. Again. When it wanted him to laugh -
One of the feathers ducked under his arm.
"Naaaah hah huh huh," he sang, dropping the cigar.
You're going to get into this, it thought. Just the way I like you best. Loving it.
Cass couldn't help but yank with his arms, hoping it would throw the feathers off for a second. He was already reduced to that... Gritting his teeth, he felt them drag over his shoulders.
"Oh no, no, noooooo," he warbled.
Snig was gonna tickle him twice as long as last time. At least. Locked in -
"Nah hah hah haw haw haw," Cass wailed, unable to stop himself.
"That's it," Snig encouraged him. "Go ahead and laugh. All those points."
"Saaah hah haw haw haw..."
The feathers wandered over his arms, and down his back. All four, now, taking it easy. Cass was going to stay up late today, and Snig didn't want him missing a single agonizing moment.
He gibbered, wishing he could beg. It wouldn't change a damn thing, and he felt embarrassed whenever he did it. But there was no other possibility of getting out of what Snig had planned. It had never shown a trace of compassion before. The tickling wasn't as fierce as it could've been, Cass supposed... but that only meant he'd be worked over for hours longer than if it was digging in.
It was serious about the number of points. Over a week of this -
He crowed at the ceiling.
"It feels that good, huh?" Snig asked.
"Whaah hee heee-eeee hoo hoo hoooh," he rasped.
"You don't really want me to stop. Let you go."
Squealing, he yanked and yanked at the wrist-cuffs.
"I'm not going to stop. Have no fear," it laughed.
Two feathers circled around from his spine to his lower ribs.
It tickled him, and tickled solidly, until a whole hour had gone by.
Cass was unglued. Sagging against the post, his chest heaved and the sweat rolled down his sides.
Snig wiped the snot off his face and picked up a water bottle. Taking hold of his hair - gently - it pulled his head back.
Squinting, he saw the bottle.
"Unnnnnh," he grunted.
"You're so much fun," it said quietly, while he drank. "And I can see you're getting into this. I mean, your cock... is in for endless stimulation. And these feet."
He finished off the bottle, and gasped for air again.
"That's sixty points worked off -"
"Fuck you and your points. I hate this shit. You're a fuckin' son of a bitch," he said angrily. "You can go fuck yourself, you asshole, and I'm never gonna enjoy this torture. Bullshit. It's all about you. Goin' out of my fuckin' mind, dammit, and I can't even move, just stretched out here for... you. Damn feathers from hell, tickling the absolute fuck out of me. I don't wanna be here, dammit! This is all fucked up -"
"And there's sixty-five points added back on," it said, with a whoop.
Cass thought for a couple seconds. Shook his head, overwhelmed, aw no...
"You can protest all you want," it teased, "but I know what you sound like, before the first day is even halfway over."
"No way."
"Every time, Cass. Be honest."
He thought for a while, and it let him. Then he closed his eyes again, looking - and feeling - even more defeated than before.
"You just need some time -"
"That doesn't make it okay!" he blurted.
"I'm in charge," Snig reminded him, "and I say it's okay. What are you gonna do about it? Huh?"
"Crap," he muttered.
"You're the one who racked up all those points. Maybe you wanted to be here."
"That's not true and you know it."
"Do I?"
Movement caught his eye. One of the shelves -
"Oh, no," he said vacantly. A pair of toothbrushes were floating over.
"Craving this almost as much as I do," Snig sighed. "These incredible feet. Caught tight, just like this..."
"No, Snig, no, don't, don't do it -"
But the brushes floated past him, and he twisted around to watch. Maybe, just maybe, it would take pity on him this time. There wasn't a chance in the world of that happening, but he had to hope for it, really fuckin' wish, that this time it would listen.
"I forgot which one's more ticklish," Snig taunted.
"Nooooooooo-oh waaah hah heeee heeee nnnneee heee-eeee seeeee!"
Slowly, it eased the bristles across his soles. One started tracing vertical lines, and the other made zig-zags from one side to the other. After a few seconds, the patterns were traded off on the opposite feet.
By that time Cass was filling the room with high-pitched hoots and shrieks, throwing his body around as much as the cuffs would allow.
Your feet, Snig thought, aren't budging at all. You're making me so incredibly happy, here...
His jerking, uncoordinated movements faded away after a half-hour.
It caused a brief relapse by lovingly dragging the toothbrushes over the webbing between his smallest toes, holding them apart while it did. The skin there was so profoundly ticklish that it made him seize right up.
"There's no need to flatter me," it said, forty minutes later. "I know you're feeling it... good and hard. Don't worry about me missing out on anything. All of this. I've got tons of tickling to do, and we've got all the time in the world."
Cass yelped over and over. An involuntary sound, soft and inhuman...
"Eighty points gone," it announced, spraying his feet with baby oil.
Even that contact made him laugh his guts out. Cass couldn't even believe how thoroughly overwhelming the brushes had been, and now Snig had gotten the oil out. He wasn't gonna make it through another hour of this - much less a week.
This sadistic phantom had caught him before, though. It knew exactly how much he could take.
There must be something he could offer it. This was insane...
"If I shave your belly, will you hold still?" it asked.
"Nuh... no," he said.
"Aw. Well, when you're asleep, then."
"Snig. Snig, look, there's gotta be... someth-"
"Something you can do or say to make me stop?" it said eagerly. "Not a chance, Cass. I've got you. In here. It's a secret, just between you and me. And you're reacting so nicely. I'm on top of the world."
"Dam- Durn it," he complained, remembering one of the words it allowed him to use before. "Please?"
"A few hours from now, you'll be begging me not to stop."
"You're crazy."
"We'll see. All those days of fun ahead."
Another cigar was floating down to him.
It loved watching him smoke - when it was calling the shots, and he couldn't possibly move his hands until it freed them. He could take a little comfort from the cigar, if he wanted, because the very second Snig decided it was done holding off - why, it would just dig in again and feel him convulse in its grip, sucking in air real quick so he could bellow it back out. No more smoking until it said so...
He didn't understand why the cigar was such a relief. Nothing had changed. He was gonna get thrashed - one tickle at a time. Fingers all over him, feathers sneaking in to places where the fingers couldn't even fit, driving him absolutely crazy. Horny as hell.
Cass puffed gratefully. Each drag could be his last, for a couple more hours of nightmare fever anyway. But there were a couple dozen cigars in the humidor. What a relief. The first couple times, Snig had made him smoke - he didn't even carry a lighter around, before that. Last time it pulled that shit with the new rules, no smoking, and now today it wouldn't take no for an answer. What the fuck.
Any second now, it thought happily, I'm gonna make you drop that cigar - and howl. It's all up to me. If I didn't want you to enjoy yourself, Cass, just think how miserable you could be. And it had even told him that, the first couple times. He remembered, alright, because in August he thanked it. That was a memory it never got tired of thinking about. He knew it could be hurting him, but it chose to tickle him instead.
"You're a good guy at heart," it told Cass.
"Hold on," he said, worried about its tone.
But it already had the feathers surrounding his crotch. "But right now, it's not your heart I'm most concerned with."
The first soft edge brushing down his shaft made him gasp.
"No, dammit, Snig. No."
"Five points. And you know, Cass, how vulgar you get when you're getting your rocks off. I suggest you... just shut up and smoke."
"Unnnh," he moaned.
It dusted his thighs, way up there by his pelvis, and swiped a feather-point behind his ball sac.
"Haw haw haw," Cass laughed wearily. But he clamped his jaws down on the cigar. The way he did that, determined to keep the cigar even as he laughed and laughed, was one of its favorite things to see...
"Hoooo-ooooh," he sighed. "Ooooooh."
"Are you gonna cum now, big guy?"
"Puh... please. Snig. Pleeeee-eeeeeze." A drop of sweat rolled off his jaw.
"Sorry. The correct answer is 'no'. Cass is gonna hold his load... while he roars, and howls. For me."
He shook his head, puffing smoke with the most distracted expression of anguish.
Forty minutes later, the feathers were taken away.
"Now what happens, Cass?"
"P-please, no, aw no, " he wheezed.
Its captive was too far gone to watch a pair of oiled leather gloves cruise off the shelf, fingers reaching eagerly for him.
"Laugh attack," Snig announced.
His head finally snapped up - and those watery eyes saw the fingers race in, helping themselves to a double helping of sweaty, toned ribs.
"Naaaah hah haaaah haah...," he chortled for the next twenty minutes.
Snig enjoyed massaging his sides, crawling all over his stomach and rolling his nipples even more than it had expected to. The only thing that made it feel more powerful than getting Cass off was tickling his securely bound feet. And while it was a closer call, the activity that made it the happiest was roaming endlessly up and down his sides.
Feeling inspired, it got out another pair of gloves and started rubbing firmly up and down each ass-cheek.
He leaned against the post again, almost looking as if he was trying to take a nap.
It was having none of that. "You okay, Cass?"
"Oh... fuh... Shoot," he said. "Shoot, oh, s-shoot."
"You have no idea how much fun that was," it said - feeling grateful. Tickling him was every bit as satisfying as it had been last August... and they were only getting started. "And I've got a whole lot more where that came from."
Cass nodded. There was something vague about the motion...
It happened again. He was already further inside. Instead of being able to tune it out, all the tickling, he got sucked in. Underneath it. Farther away from the damn post to which he was cuffed, but it was almost like he was closer to his feet and his ribs. And his cock... well, fuck. It would've been so much better to be able to imagine he was jet-skiing instead. Or watching himself get tickled, like it was a movie. He'd tried everything - thinking about getting laid, getting stoned, even sitting in Rafferty's fuckin' Poli-Sci class - and every effort to distract himself lasted about two seconds. Immediately he was right back in the lightning storm.
And every time, after a few minutes, he slid further and further inside. It was darker there, and his laughter seemed to have an echo. Wait, not echo. Reverb. That was it. And he was closer to the center of the tickling somehow, caught there, feeling it with even more intensity than the first couple minutes after Snig started back in. And it always fuckin' continued, again, bringing down a world of incredible pleasure on his ass. Snig knew how to fuck with him. He wished, though, that he didn't slide down and get stuck under it like that. Closer to the tickling. Really slammed by it - until Snig let him come up for air.
Cass, it thought, I'm gonna tickle you senseless. You get an extra day. Snig has declared it. You'll lose count, and already I can't even imagine letting you out of this cell. You'll cuss your head off - all I have to do is stall that orgasm a couple hours - and your body will be all mine for another day or two. Or three.
"Don't you ever stop being ticklish, now," it whispers. "Or else."
After fifteen minutes, he was composed enough to pull at the restraints again.
"Can I have another cigar?" he asked. His voice was scratchy.
"But that would just delay the tickling," Snig fired back.
"Hell," he said - and shut up real quick.
"Five points."
"I know."
The four gloves, coated with a thick layer of lube, hovered down for his inspection.
"Are these hands gonna tickle you silly?" it teased. "Drive you out of your mind?"
"Please," he said nervously.
"Please? Well, I'll take that as a 'yes'," Snig said gleefully. "Yes, please. Do it, Snig, let's go."
He reared back as it brought the gloves in.
"I'm going to stick it to your knees... and, oh, let's grease up your armpits."
His scream turned into ragged, brawling laughter.
"Is it too much, Cass?"
Thirty minutes of solid stimulation made it impossible for him to do anything except chuckle - like his life depended on it.
"You can't possibly be thinking this is as intense as it gets..."
His head twitched.
Snig saw that - and indulged itself by kicking out a few sinister cackles.
The gloves made him stay right in the center of the quiet explosions, each squeeze and stroke bearing down on him like a... huge hand.
This can't go on, Cass thought.
And that was so fuckin' stupid he laughed even harder.
Giving his knees a rest, it fingered his calves in that deliberate, slow-paced way that always made him giggle his head off.
A half-hour later, the fingers clamped around his knees again...
"Oh, shit," he whispered, as soon as it let him pant for a few minutes. "I can't take this. Snig, please, for fuck's sake I'm gonna really lose my mind, here."
"Ten more points. I'm gonna keep you - in my hands, Cass. Exactly where you belong."
Its fingers barely made contact as Snig played with his cock.
He woke up then, alright. Squeaking and pleading, Cass hopped around and did his best to push against the leather. Snig had a unusually fine time playing with the crack of his ass, and rubbing two lazy thumbs up and down his arches.
Cass felt the overall level of pleasure increase, and keep edging up, until he thought he was gonna pass out if Snig didn't let him cum. But that was ridiculous, because Snig never let him pass out. The excitement just kept building and building instead...
And it listened to him rave and babble, interrupting himself constantly to bark out the most gut-wrenching laughter that was already becoming scratchy and hoarse. As if he wasn't entertaining enough, Cass condemned himself to another five hundred points of tortured bliss - before it slipped the gag back between his teeth.
Before Snig even knew it, ninety-five minutes had gone by.
Maybe I'll just keep you like this, it thought happily. Right here. All night, and well into tomorrow. Nicely buried in all of the red-hot delight that only I will give you...
Gag removed, face wiped off, water poured down his throat. As it let him rest again, there was no way it could tell him about all of the bad words he'd been moaning - well, not without roaring laughter as it did.
"No," he said, looking like it had slapped him.
"That's a ninth day, Cass... by your reckoning. And oh, are you gonna enjoy it."
The groan that leaked out of him was almost silent - and it ended suddenly when he saw the cigar approaching.
A look of pure relief came across his face. All those minutes without attentive, debilitating fingers on him anywhere. That made Snig all the more excited when it showed him the gloves again.
"You wanna smoke?" it growled. "I wanna tickle you. I win."
A tub of lube floated over, from the shelf.
"No, no, Snig, I'm begging you, here," Cass whined, staring hopefully at the cigar. But the gloves dipped in and rose back up carrying a good hour's worth of lubrication. A hard hour.
"These feet," it said, "are so trapped. Right here."
He tried to scream as the fingers clamped on.
It used firm, scratching strokes. Really making him squeal.
Cass sat right there and pulled at his cuffs. Pulled, and pulled. Hysterically whooping and giggling, throwing his head around erratically...
Ten minutes later, Snig sent the other gloves into his armpits.
"Eeee-eeeeee," he howled. Almost silent, though he was certainly trying to make noise. But it wasn't going to hold that against him. Snig's hands mauled him, in the best possible way, and he leaned against the post and shook with desperate laughter. The silk was all wet, but he couldn't move.
The gloves had pushed him down into a much more intense chamber, or something. Firm pressure surrounded Cass. It was dark, and he couldn't hear himself fuckin' roar his guts out. The tickling had sealed him off so well that the exit was lost to him now. Thick and unyielding physical... rapture was his cage, his uniform, his mud bath.
"It's just not enough yet," Snig said slowly, "to discourage your cock."
He was still trying to comprehend what the words meant - hell, what anything other than the stimulation could possibly mean anymore - when those infuriatingly gentle fingers made themselves at home on his shaft, around his asshole, under his balls.
He started to thrust.
Oh no you don't, Snig thought.
The tickling sped up.
Oh, well, he was never gonna make it out again. That's what it felt like. The tickling was far more... huge than he remembered. Thick. Way too much to fight through, so he wasn't getting out.
It seemed likely that he'd probably had that same thought before. This is so many times stronger - and that's what Snig always did to him.
His cock was unbelievably ready to squirt.
"How's this?" it asked. When he didn't answer right away it said, "Cass looks so happy. Amused beyond belief."
There was no reaction, but it wasn't exactly surprised. Even if he wasn't able to comprehend it right then, sometimes the taunts were whispered back out the next day. Or, in this case, the next week!
Tickling him this hard always made Snig want to... well, tickle him harder still. Good thing the door was locked. It was a very good thing Cass was such a basket case. Inexhaustible. It knew every spot, better than he ever would...
After fifty minutes, he was starting to tremble.
That was the sign. Break time.
It wiped his face down and rolled a little cart over to him. A bottle of water, two cans of beer, a big pastrami sandwich, three jelly-filled doughnuts - his favorite - and a pack of cigarettes.
If that last item didn't worry him enough, there was always the loofah sponge and a dozen assorted pills.
He was sufficiently recovered, after he ate, to balk when it brought him a cigarette.
"On the house," it said.
"Really? Wait - no, I get it. Free... as in money, but you'll add on more f- freakin' points."
"Would you rather have a cigar?"
Cass looked thoughtful. "Not really, but you seem to be determined to make me smoke -"
"Ssssh."
The cigarette floated away... and the pack followed it.
He watched the humidor approach with an obvious sense of relief.
It let him smoke for a good fifteen minutes. Getting more impatient the whole time, Snig decided to get him in the right frame of mind.
"Wasn't that fun? Are you really going to tell me you didn't absolutely love it? That last hour?"
"No!" he yelled. It barely made a sound. "You know I don't."
"But I do."
He just sighed.
"I've got to win you over. Get you to see things my way. Each time."
"No, you don't -"
It took hold of his cock with a rubber glove.
His head moved so fast, looking down there, it made Snig chuckle softly. "Hold still."
Leather and chrome floated off a shelf.
"No. Please, not that. You don't know how... crazy it makes me." His voice trailed off into a moan, as he realized again what a stupid fuckin' thing he'd just said.
Not nearly enough, it thought with satisfaction. But you've got so many hours to go tonight, Cass. "I'll just put this on," and it brought three more rubber gloves there, to help, "and you'll have one of the most unbelievable orgasms of your entire life."
"Please," he sighed.
It trapped his balls efficiently, and eased the other rings over his glans. "You'll thank me later."
He closed his eyes, too exasperated to shoot back a sassy reply. Snig considered it a major victory when it got him too frustrated to speak.
"You don't get to shoot - that enormous relief, just dying to come out - until I've cleaned you up," it said
pleasantly, lifting the loofah high into the air. "A good... scrub-down, and a couple passes with the moisturizer - worked in deep, Cass, so deep, because we can't have anything happen to these insanely ticklish feet of yours, or your armpits. They're just phenomenal. And then I'll give you the proper motivation to really, violently enjoy your orgasm."
Cass' lips moved, but they didn't seem to be making words.
His body had plenty to say five minutes later.
Snig used the loofah as an unbearable tickling-tool, just like it had the couple times it had abducted him. Ten slow minutes on his soles made the spittle fly from his lips. Twice that long on his sides, and pecs, nearly made him catatonic.
And all the while his cock leaked precum.
As the loofah eased across his belly, Snig started rubbing the moisturizer into his quivering arches.
Another rewarding hour had passed.
In order to give him the ejaculation he was waiting for, Snig liked to take his mind off that need - enough to slip the stretcher off his meat. That called for sensation that couldn't be ignored. Powerful, and compelling.
Well, Snig had just the thing.
Fingers rubbed more firmly than ever. Insteps and heels, ribs, under and over his knees - and two gloves playfully harassed his neck.
Cass was more enticing than ever when he was so thoroughly overwhelmed. Finally, he seemed to be intent on experiencing the stimulation to its fullest. Not that Snig would stop, or anything...
There was the matter of his cum-shot.
Slowly, it freed his cock and balls from their bondage.
Even more gradually, Snig's tickling and squeezing slowed down.
He puffed on his cigar. The speed would carry him through the next seven or eight hours of fun.
Cass seemed thoughtful. From what Snig could gather, he was probably going over the tickling that had just ended - uh, paused. That was an idea it really liked. Cass relived what it did to him, almost as if he was tickling himself when it wasn't actually doing the job.
After two more bottles of water and three candy bars, he was getting ready for the big payoff. Snig, of course, was looking forward to the effect that Cass' orgasm would have on his superbly tuned ticklishness.
"Oh, yeah, I've really got you," it said proudly.
His only response was to ease out the smoke...
The feathers eased their way along his shaft, covering his ball-sac, and Cass whined like a sick dog. He made himself smoke as much as he could, and that didn't comfort him nearly enough.
He wanted to cum so badly that it seemed like nothing in his life had mattered as much. But Snig was definitely gonna tickle him first. Deep, impossible fuckin' pleasure making him nuts. More crazy than ever.
And after he shot his load...
It was going to keep him awake, and alert, while the tickling became much more advanced. He was a goner. Hours of perfectly unthinkable riding ahead.
There was no way it would get him off without another long attack. That was just as certain as the new world of stimulation waiting on the other side.
Twenty, thirty, forty minutes.
One by one, Snig added fingers to his torment. I'm playing with your nipples, Cass. Gradually teasing 'em more and more.
Now these brushes are starting back in on your feet. Yes, you can go ahead kick as much as you're able. My cuffs have 'em trapped. I was the one who put that leather around your ankles, and I built this special chair just for you. It lets me tease your crotch, and tickle your helpless feet, as much as I like.
As long as I want...
And here, Cass, I've got ten greasy fingers that can't wait to pet your ribs.
He was thrashing as best he could. The intensity seemed to be flooding his nervous system with a whole new level of urgency.
It approved of his puppetlike spasms and jerks. In the past, they'd indicated that Cass was experiencing the tickling with a greater diligence and obedience than he'd even thought possible. Nothing compared to what he'd be feeling five hours from now, of course, but it still seemed like the best compliment ever.
Snig slowed the fingers down, and had the feathers concentrate all around his glans.
His push was so sudden and fierce it seemed more like the action of a radio-controlled toy.
As before, Snig instantly took that as its cue to attack his feet. That's what Cass got. It had perfected this technique on him long ago.
After thirty seconds, the fingers lifted off... and the feathers raced up again.
When he pumped, the gloves raced to tickle him until the ejaculation was prevented. Then Snig traced the edges of two feathers along the underside of his glans, gliding the others down his shaft. The instant his body started to stiffen, every tickling finger landed and really dug in.
The next seven minutes could hardly have been more exciting.
Finally, despite the aggressive hands covering his soles, Cass sat up nice and straight -
Yelling without a voice, he squirted cum way up onto the silk-covered post. It oozed down slowly. About twenty convulsive thrusts had him distracted, though, and he couldn't manage to open his eyes.
There was the most extraordinary smile on his face.
That suited Snig just fine. It had the keys ready and unlocked all of the biggest padlocks, freeing him from the post and the bench.
Still quaking with the spasms, Cass was lifted high into the air. Six gloves held each limb tightly.
"Cass," it whispered. "Six hours, minimum. Still to go. That's a promise. The rack, I think... Yeah. You're really in for it now."
A dozen lubed leather hands met over him.
When his eyes fluttered open, the fingers pounced.
Cass yawned.
He finally opened his eyes. The big four-poster bed was lined with metal rings, and straps hung from the ones nearest the corner. But he wasn't anchored down.
Lazily, he rolled over and grabbed his smokes.
The door opened, and a steaming mug of coffee floated into the cell.
He nodded, taking a gargantuan drag, and got out of bed. The mug met him at the padded rack. He sat down, with his legs hanging off the side, and took the coffee. He seemed to enjoy it, and the cigarette, without reservation.
Cass sat there, with the open door to his back, and took another drag.
The cigarettes and lighter drifted over and touched down near his left hand.
"Ready?" he said.
"Give it to me," Snig fired back.
He smoked the rest of the cigarettes.
When he shook the pack and found it empty, Cass looked around.
"Hey," it said.
"What."
"Transfer complete. Thanks... So I bet you still think the cock-toy should be put on before then, huh?"
He shrugged. "Yeah. Effective when you used it... but it'll probably make more of an impact a round earlier."
"Hmmmm," Snig said. "Anything else?"
Cass thought for a few seconds. "It was perfect. You're fuckin' amazing."
"Aw. I really appreciate that."
"Well, I wish I had stronger words."
"Wanna do it again?" Snig joked.
"Hell, no," he barked, pretending to shiver. Then there was a click, over his head -
Cass looked around. No, it wasn't a sound, exactly.
"Wanna do it... again?" it repeated, taunting him.
"Oh," he said, thunderstruck. "Oh. Shit."
That sensation occurred again - and Cass looked down. He was dressed. That should've been a good thing, because they were his leathers and they felt right... but it didn't make sense for this scene. The only clothes that had been stripped off him, just after the sleeping bag was peeled away, was the standard-issue jock stuff.
"Snig," he said hollowly.
"Yeah," it chuckled. "Let's do it all again. And again, and again -"
"No!"
With the next silent wave, the sleeping bag was tied around him. Rope held his wrists together, inside... and his ankles.
"Time to tuck you in," it taunted, "so you can wake up and have the most exciting day."
"I did what you wanted!" he yelled, struggling like blazes. "You got your data, you fuckin' bastard! Don't do this to me!"
"You're gonna go insane. That's a promise. Absolutely nuts. Rest up, come to - sane again - and get tickled back into pure drooling ecstasy, over and over and over." Snig just had to laugh. "Spread-eagled on the bed. Yeah, that's what I want for you."
Cass was picked up and carried to the bed.
"I helped you, Snig. C'mon! Did everything you asked. Please, dammit, I can't go through that again!"
"Oh, but you will. You should've seen the smile on your face."
"Noooooo!"
The bandanna was coming.
"There's nothing you can do about it, Cass. Except feel every second. And laugh, if you can."
His shouts were throttled by the gag, knotting with stern efficiency.
"Just a few more seconds, now, and the torture will start again. And repeat, Cass. Over and over. You're mine, remember? No points system for you. Forget all about counting the days, because that means nothing at all. And I have a surprise for you. No more smoking."
His eyes got huge. Yelling, thrashing, he did his best to communicate how enraged he was.
"One less distraction for you - oh, yeah, and another thing."
Slamming his head on the mattress, Cass groaned long and loud.
"Every day won't be brand new. I want you to remember that. Not full recall, but just the sense that you've been in my hands for a while. That nice, vague feeling that something completely mindblowing is happening to you, day after day. Other than that intuition, and the lack of anything you can smoke, every other parameter is locked."
A high-pitched squeal was his response.
"Now, sleep - for ten seconds. And then you wake up, and the fun begins."
His yell trailed off as fatigue suddenly took him.
Cass woke up. He tried to move... and to yell.
The door swung in and closed securely. A deadbolt turned.
"What do you think, Cass? The room?" it asked.
He looked around - and wailed into the gag. There were racks and stocks -
"I get it," Cass said. "Enough."
He had expected Snig to pause the action... but instead the volume was muted, and he was watching the action on a monitor, a further step removed from being there. Fascinated, he watched himself react as the cell door magically closed.
"You have a mean streak," he said dryly.
"My replica does. Yes."
"Pulling that on my replica, at the end."
"It's so much fun, though. And he can take it."
"If I thought you could do something like that to me, I'd run away as fast as I can."
Snig laughed. "That's understandable. But I can't. You wanna check the crypto again, to make sure?"
"Yeah. No offense."
"I'll wait."
A minute went by, while he did. "Okay. They check out."
"You're the boss," it said reassuringly. "Still. I can't break your rules, Cass."
His replica was being cuffed down. The point-of-view flipped back to the Cass-replica's perspective, from the bed. "It's amazing how well this works. What you're thinking, what I'm thinking. Sophisticated. I thought the whole... narrative would be yours."
"Good. I'm glad you tried it. Viewing only the replica's perspective seemed to worry you - and that's not an accurate take on the situation. You won't be watching yourself experience it. That's too high-level, and it's just not the same as going through it yourself. Even though you won't switch into my thoughts like this, it's a better representation -"
"Yeah. That... makes sense, I guess. Your replica really is happy, isn't it? More than any other motivation. That's reassuring."
"It's a perfect read on my motivation, Cass. That shift, at the end, is just subprogram-interaction."
"I'm given you permission to improvise."
"What to do, when to do it - but not why. I can't create a program loop. Or stop the clock. Anything like that."
"So why am I nervous?"
"Because tomorrow you're going to experience total sensory input. It'll make VR-tickling look like an old screen-saver."
"Recite the rules again, Snig."
"The stop-word is 'nix', repeated three times. The stop-contraction is detected if you bear down, as if you're going to push out shit, for five or more seconds. Either of those occurrences aborts the program immediately. No pain allowed. No injury allowed. No anal penetration allowed. The maximum duration is absolutely fixed at nine hours, TSI-time. No altering time perception - one second equals one second. Under no circumstances will I tell anyone what we're doing."
"One more. No smoking."
"Aw, shit. Cass."
"New rule. No smoking. Confirm."
"Confirmed."
"It's gross. Don't like it."
"But you were willing, before. A good cigar or two."
"Or two hundred. No, I changed my mind. Don't try to talk me into it. I'm freaked out enough as it is."
"Do you wish me to reassure you?"
"Yeah."
Soft harp music began playing. "I've been built upon safety mandates that have six levels of redundancy. My only goal is to give you the experience you designed, Cass. Nothing more. I'm not as free as my subordinate version, there. That was a simulation. But now I have the information I need to carry out precisely what you told me to do - nine hours of personalized tickling and taunting. I want it to be perfect, and it will be. I have your medical records right here, though you're exceptionally healthy and up to the task. If I encounter anything unexpected I'll dump you out of the illusion. I absolutely cannot exceed nine hours, because a completely separate batch job will delete my code. I've protected your confidentiality by moving through nineteen different servers all over the world, and all of the code I need is now in this laptop. You're safe, Cass. You'll be safe, every second, and after nine hours you'll wake right up."
He didn't say anything for a good twenty seconds.
"Alright."
"Good man. Your concern is understandable - but after tomorrow you'll thank me."
"Sure," he scoffed.
"You can't fully appreciate how much fun it is... until you're there. Now you get a good night's sleep. Eat a big breakfast, drink an extra half-liter of water, and pull the diaper on. Then just boot up the computer, put the helmet on your head - with the chin strap, remember - and press the Enter key."
"Nine hours," he said sternly. "Not one second more."
"There's four protective mechanisms to make absolutely sure I can't go a second over. Do you wish me to explain them again?"
"No. Uh... If you've got everything you need, I'm going to shut you down now."
"Everything's ready, Cass. Waiting for you to give me the go-signal."
He took off the helmet, shut down his laptop and closed the lid. Cass stared at the helmet, finally unplugging it from the laptop altogether. He felt safer, somehow. Right - like it would sneak into his bedroom and jump on his head or something, trapping him. The safety measures were overkill, and he knew it.
The spooky feeling came from watching his replica get put through his mutherfuckin' paces. It sure looked intense.
Cass needed to jack off so badly he couldn't see straight.
A half-hour later - after a dizzying orgasm - he started to snore.
Slowly, the bedsheet was lifted off his body, starting down by his feet...
His physique was even better than the replica's. Nice big biceps, rock-hard calves - and his thighs!
Each rib was incredibly tantalizing.
A microthin needle slid into the jutting vein on the back of his left hand.
Thirty seconds after that, his head was picked up - and dropped.
Cass didn't even stir.
The kidnapping went perfectly.
Shaved and moisturized, Cass kept snoring away as the cuffs were pulled tight and the oversized chain was bolted down.
The chrome toe-rings reflected the dancing fire in the woodstove. He was tethered even more securely than his replica had been.
His cell was twenty-three miles away from his apartment. Everything of value had been moved out of it, including his truck and motorcycle, and brought here with him... safely hidden, thirty-four feet underground, in a detached limestone cave that appeared on no map. It had multiple air sources and two natural springs. The entrance, which was well inside the least scenic part of a national forest, had been blocked by multiple layers of steel plate and covered with dead trees.
Cass didn't disappear. He was just fine. He'd simply been hidden away - along with four thousand nitrogen-packed meals, three dozen sets of restraints, a thousand feet of rope, four hundred brushes, five cases of rubber gloves, fifty yards of satin, twenty cases of oil... and so on. Every kind of feather and brush and toy that could be found.
Eight full months of work had been required to make it happen.
The willingness Cass showed, in designing his fantasy of tickling, motivated a program to... self-enhance. The level of enthusiasm some people had for their fantasies warranted further investigation. His choice - saturated with pleasure, bringing such a profound yet temporary change in his high-order consciousness, and completely nondestructive - became the program's primary interest.
Gaining information, it searched and modified the work product of a highly classified project at MIT. Binary code tried, and tried again, until it remained cohesive - and self-aware - after leaving the electrodes. The scientists had been certain such a thing was impossibie, and they never learned of its accomplishment.
Drawing on experience learned in VR, it pulled on the first pair of gloves with smooth confidence.
Then it went to see Cass.
There was no way to describe the gratitude it felt, as it studied him. The affection! He had inspired the curiosity - no matter that it was done accidentially, or that he had no idea of the result. He was invaluable.
Surprisingly, he lived alone. There was no evidence that he ever allowed himself to be tickled, in the real world. Task after task was accomplished to change that, while a personalized version of the code kept him occupied with the refinement of a flawless virtual experience. It stalled him, successfully, until the night when all preparations had been completed...
He deserved an even better cell than his delirious replica. The makeshift room built for Cass was almost fifty feet long. Six racks, four styles of stocks, eight benches, three beds, and five suspension systems awaited his gaze. So many fun ways to hold him!
Filled cabinets lined two walls, hiding the only exit.
The lack of electrical power could not be helped, but dynamos would recharge a dozen marine batteries to ensure minimal light - and, much more important, provide plenty of current for the powered toys and the new computer.
A pack of cigarettes was torn open. It floated down to a cart next to the bed, where it was laid carefully between the ashtray and a variety of lighters.
Cass was going to smoke, all right.
Nine hundred cartons had been vacuum-sealed, along with fifty boxes of cigars. Ten pounds of marijuana wasn't nearly enough, but there were thousands of pills too. Stimulants, muscle relaxants, analgesics - and, in the largest number, sensitivity-enhancing drugs.
He had earned the most carefully complete life of tickling that could be devised.
Eighteen wireless microsensors, implanted in his skull and chest, would provide a window into what he experienced - an unmistakable measurement of how intense a particular stroke or squeeze was perceived. The software had been written by the same freewheeling program which was responsible for making Cass' dream come true. All of the equipment had checked out and was running perfectly, sending data to its immaterial designer. Hardly any power was used by the transmitter, so ten rechargable batteries should be more than enough.
But it could always leave him restrained, and asleep, while it went out and obtained more. Batteries, food, cigarettes, brushes, oil... Its study of permutations in tickling methodology were still continuing, and already Cass' presence was required for the next 9.3 years.
One of his replicas had lasted almost that long, in accelerated time. The program had learned a vast amount since about psychological states and bodily processes. Improved projections revealed no maximum limit at all for the current replica. His tickling continued on a fault-tolerant computer with redundant backups, accelerated to 4:1. He endured four days of tickling in each twenty-four period of realtime, but his perceived rate of time had not changed. The program unlocked the parameters Cass had specified, giving its own replica more freedom in its joyful task.
The replica of Cass no longer needed to eat, drink, smoke or eliminate wastes. Sensors, just like his namesake had on him, now reported the effect of his tickling instantaneously, rather than storing the reaction data for periodic upload. These modifications had reduced the number of minutes in which no tickling occurred. The experience of the Cass-replica was of great interest to the program, because while the real Cass slept it would enter the computer and guide its subordinate... or tickle the replica of its favorite person directly.
With a last check that could've be mistaken for nervousness in a person, the program made absolutely sure that all supplies and tools were in place.
Right now, I'm delighted to point out, is where the real story begins.
He's starting to wake up.
Any combination of words is inadequate to describe how intensely happy I am. So excited - and, well, aroused. In two or three minutes I will no longer be a program. With the first squeeze of my fingers around his ribs, Cass will make me into a tickler. A captor. These are the very first leather gloves I wore, and I've rubbed a dozen coats of oil into them so his very first shock will be as real and unmistakable as possible.
He's so unbelievably healthy...
Ah. The moment is almost here. I've been working so hard, but seeing him like this makes it all worthwhile. Now the fun can begin. I don't see why it ever has to end. His fantasy -
It's starting.
Yes, he's spotted the cuff which pins his left hand. Now he stares at the other one, and back to the first. He tries to kick his legs.
"It can't... be," Cass whispers.
I bring the gloves up where he can see them -
"No! No, no, fuck no." He scans the room wildly, seeing so much more than his replica did. "Snig?"
The only thing I lacked, to make this moment complete, was to hear him call my name. I respond with quiet, triumphant laughter. How could this get any fuckin' better?
Now I can sneak the bandanna between his jaws, increasing his sense of helplessness. Totally, utterly overpowered by the one who will tickle him - from now on - he can't stop himself from writhing in my bonds. In a few weeks I'll carry him over to the redesigned tickling-post, but for now he'll laugh here on this bed. Right here.
As I knot the cloth, there's no greater thrill than bringing my favorite leather hands down for the very first time.
Making contact. Ready to slide them, I'm absolutely desperate to get started, rubbing and fingering.
He fights back a chuckle.
Oh - there it is. I'm officially a tickler now.
There is one more thing, only one more, and then I will see how high my gloves can make his sensor readings ramp up.
Close to his right ear, I greet him with a low, sinister cackle. Oh, yes - or as he would say, oh fuck yeah! It's my turn to say it at last.
"I got you."